


High Up in the Steeple

by Sandalaris



Series: the white rabbit's pocketwatch [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crazy Belle (Once Upon a Time), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 02:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandalaris/pseuds/Sandalaris
Summary: Some days are better than others. But she's learned to recognize them.AU where Belle escaped from the hospital days before Emma showed up.





	High Up in the Steeple

**Author's Note:**

> This is short, but I liked the ending and didn't feel like adding to it.

He brought her a rose, the dealmaker. But she forgot to notice. Until now. Sees it sitting on a table in the front hall. Lonely and beautiful in it's vase. Singular, but there were more before. Or maybe just one. Repeats and copies. 

Her body's betrayed her, treacherous thing. Hasn't moved from before the table, her eyes from the redness of the bloom.  

When she blinks they are sandy, rough. Shadows stretch along the floor and her legs are tired. Time skipped forward without her. Leaving her behind. Always left behind. Or not. Made to do the leaving, she reminds herself. Except for when she really wants to, keeps her then. Princess locked in a tower, hair grew too long and then the thief came and stole it all away.  

No. Not her story.  

All made up anyways. 

Mad girl. To blame mist and fog for the way the people around her seem to playing cardboard roles to her addled mind. To accuse the clock of forgetting to keep track of time. How can she be anything but? 

_Tick tock._

Chiming the hour throughout the house with the painted windows. Why do they call it grandfather? The dealmaker offered to take it away, but she knows how to hide from its face now.  

It's going to be a bad day. If he was here she'd warn him. Of her shortening thoughts. Of the false clarity whispering to her. Promising her things.  

_Dig just a bit deeper._

But he had to go away. Went away and left her the rose. _Did so before too._ But not. Not him. 

Must turn her thoughts to something else. That way lies only pain and salt. She knows what she needs. 

 _"Only for emergencies,"_ he'd said. After he'd come back. Went to see someone without her. Brought back pills. But no cup.   
   
_"They'll make you tired, but you'll feel better after you wake up."_

And she does. Makes her sleep long after she's awoken. Buried under cotton wool and letting it all play out upon the stage. Had to take them once before.  

Never more than two. Little white pills in a bottle with a magic lid. He keeps the bottle locked up, hidden away. Afraid. But leaves two out when he leaves. Just in case. 

The sit in her palm, and she doesn't remember when she got them. But they sit and she hates them. 

Must get better. 

She swallows them dry. 

- 

She wakes to a dark room, but it's soft. Her master sits in a chair, watching her. He likes to watch her, wrong eyes full of something painful and guarded and hopeful.  

"It got bad," she says by way of explanation. He must get it because he nods. 

"And now?" 

She assesses, catalogues her thoughts, but how is a mad woman to know when she's more sane? 

"Better," she says slowly, tasting the word on her tongue. "I'm waking up." 

Blunted edges are sharpening, but they won't cut her this time. She'll be more careful. 

"You slept through the night," he murmurs. Concerned. She feels warm inside, heart expanding until it fills her chest and spreads further.  

"Hmm," she says softly, letting her gaze blink slowly, sluggishly moving like her mind, "supposed to." It's the way the world works. Even this one. 

She pushes herself up, resting on her hands as she gazes around the room. Ought to be doing something. But she's soft and her thoughts are buried deep where it's dark and warm and safe.  
   
She pushes back the blankets, twisting her feet to plant them on the floor. 

"Bell?" he master says, choked and quiet. 

She hums in reply, moving slowly towards him in her longest sleep gown, everything wrapped up in it. Muffled and slow. She touches his face, palm cupping his jaw and watches as he closes his eyes. Feels him sigh against her, breath brushing her wrist.  

"Bell," he says again, a bare whisper. 

Her thumb brushes over his cheekbone without her say so, feels the hint to coarse stubble. Her head tilts as she watches him, hot breath against her wrist leaving gooseflesh in it's wake. No thoughts to interfere, easy to press down when they threaten to rise. 

"Is that what I am?" Because she's not a girl, feels too old for that, even if her face looks not yet three and twenty. A pretty object. Calling out the change in hour. But time stopped and the tolls went silent.

His hand covers hers, pressing it against his cheek before he removes it from his skin. Keeps it though, holds it in his workman's hands. Rough with calluses on his fingers. No sword play for him. 

"You will always be my darling bell," he tells her. Confesses to her. She nods, because it's right, even as it hurts something inside. A pleasant ache like a healing wound. Pull the rope and let the bells sound again.   

He looks at her, pinning her with his too knowing gaze. "Soon," he murmurs. "This will all be over soon." 

She nods, although she doesn't know what he means. Stands there in her dark room, with her thoughts asleep for a little while longer, and lets her master hold her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not done with this thing, but I think I may be winding down? I have three more planned, but maybe my muse will decide it's not done and keep it going after that.


End file.
